Ace Up My Sleeve
by GlobalDomination
Summary: Tamaki is a luckless fool in love, Haruhi is a cynical blackjack dealer. What happens when these two meet? Could be a risky gamble! Total OOC and TamaxHaru. A couple OC's as well.
1. Luck

**Author's Greetings: **Welcome to my second Ouran story (that isn't a oneshot). For some reason, I'm better at writing oneshot than stories that are long-term. Probably because I have a short attention span. Oh, look! A Cute little birdie! What's that? Wow, what pretty colors. I think I should brush my hair. It's so tangled. You know, I'm kind of hungry. I should eat something—I might pass out. Ow! My knuckle hurts. I just hit it on my desk. And you know what…wait…wasn't I supposed to be DOING something? Oh, yeah. Story. Go on.

**Disclaimer: **With all seriousness, I do not own Ouran High School Host Club; it's characters, plot, and fluffy buns. With all silliness, I think I'll eat a cookie.

* * *

A man staggered through Ouran's entrance, flashing his driver's I.D. as proof of his age to Jake the security guard.

Ouran could be a cool name for a club somewhere. Or maybe even the fancy moniker of a distinguished school.

But no, Ouran was a casino. It was famous and popular in Los Angeles, where there weren't a lot of appealing places to gamble in.

_Twenty-one years old, _Jake noted, nodding his head with authorization.

Burly, bulky, big-armed Jake couldn't care less what the man looked like. It was his age on the I.D., and any weapon he might have that was important. A more thorough observer, however, would see the distressed lurch of the tall man. Maybe even his scruffy clothes, his messy golden-blonde hair, and the desperate look in his indigo eyes.

All this passed Jake by, and soon the man was through the entrance hall and in the colorful, chaotic, raucous world of gambling.

What is so strange about casinos is that although the spirit is always of celebration, none of the patrons are actually doing any celebrating.

Except for the ones who have just won a big jackpot, that is.

However, most customers in casinos are so _intent_.

Some are staring blank-eyed at the blue screens of slot machines; they're arms automatically pulling the levers, waiting for another failed attempt, feeding the noisy beasts more coins, and starting the cycle again.

Others study their cards carefully—as if enough glaring could change a useless five into an ace. They groan in despair and throw their hands up in irritation as their chips are scooped by the various dealers in identical gray vests and black bow ties.

The cheerful announcements of the dealer at the roulette are belied by the somber expressions of those whose year's savings are on the line. Each stares at the giant red and black wheel with crossed fingers and thumping hearts. Each one turns ashen-faced as the wheel stops, and once again it is not their number.

Never their number.

Mindless games—pointless dreams.

But still they bet and bet and bet, always with the hope that the next round, the next hand, the next number…they'll win the big prize. Oh, what bliss then!

The man of our attention stood frozen on the rich carpet, taking in the sights. These sights of greed, of anguish, of joy, of the zombie-like trance the customers were trapped in.

_I've already lost my biggest gamble_, he thought with determination. _What have I got more to lose?_

He walked towards the blackjack table, a little bucket of chips in one hand, the other clenched in a tight fist. Walking quickly, he was afraid he would lose his courage even before his first hand.

At last he reached the table. He slumped down on a stool, and the bucket of chips came down a small, dull _thump!_ on the green felt.

"Ante?"

He looked up to see a petite young woman with short brown hair impatiently shuffling the deck in her hands.

Her brows were furrowed in irritation. Ironically, her large doe-like eyes contained distain and anger.

The black and white tag pinned to her chest read, "Haruhi."

"Opening bet's twenty bucks," she sneered, rapping the table with her knuckles. He took his eyes away from her, and laughed quietly.

_Haruhi, huh?_ he thought. _Pretty name. Not-so-pretty personality._

Yet he was captivated.

He picked out two blue ten-dollar chips, and slid them towards her with a slender, long-fingered hand.

There were two other customers at the table, but they barely gave him a glance. Instead, they smoldered in silence, annoyed at his interruption.

_Hurry up!_ their eyes screamed at the dealer.

As if sensing their nervous edginess, Haruhi started immediately. Her small hands dealt the cards in a quick, efficient manner.

_Flick! Flick! Flick!_

The cards were quickly looked at, and one of the customers—a redheaded woman—hastily said, "Hit!"

She glanced at her third card, and moaned in disappointment.

"Bust," she whispered quietly, sliding her cards away. She could not bear to look at them.

"Stay," said the other customer, an elderly woman smelling of cheap perfume. She pushed a red fifty-dollar chip away from her pile.

"You?" asked the dealer, raising an eyebrow at the man.

He hadn't even looked at his cards. For some reason, his attention was fixed on the rude Haruhi.

He skimmed the cards in his hands quickly, and his dark violet eyes widened in disbelief.

"Stay," he muttered, matching the other customer with two green twenty-dollar chips and a ten.

The dealer looked at her own cards. The face-up was a jack. The other seemed ominous, although the chances of her making twenty-one were laughably low.

"I'll stay as well," she announced.

The chips were in the pot.

The cards were dealt.

The old woman revealed her hand with quiet satisfaction. A ten and a queen.

Twenty.

Only twenty-one can beat _that_.

The man grinned.

He flipped over his cards to reveal…

.

…a jack and an ace.

Blackjack.

His opponent snorted in disgust, and swiveled on her stool with wrath.

His hand was already reaching for the pile of chips on the middle of the table when the dealer's icy cold voice said, "Not so fast."

The male took his hand back and just stared at her. He smiled an easy-going, confident smile. It was a far cry from the depressed attitude he entered the casino with.

The dealer just scowled, and turned away.

She was a bit disturbed by the sudden change in his demeanor.

_Maybe he's having mood swings, _she thought. _Well, whatever. Not my problem. I'll just do my job._

She turned over her facedown card.

It was an ace.

Blackjack.

"I do believe you're out of luck," she said, callously gathering her prize.

Instead of miserable silence, or a grunt of dissatisfaction, she sensed some kind of euphoria from the man.

She looked up in confusion.

Her honey brown eyes met his cobalt ones.

"No, Haruhi," he said loudly and happily. "I do believe I just got it back."

* * *

**Author's Farewells: **Well, how's that for a pilot? Obviously the man is Tamaki, but I didn't want to just say it. We'll get it next chapter. I hope I reveal it in a clever way. Unlike the way I revealed poor Haruhi's name. On a nametag, LOL. What's so poetic about _that_?? Also, forgive me if my somber moments seem a bit…forced. I'm new to writing serious stories. I keep having this urge to write a fluffy moment/snide author comments. I think I put in only one actual joke in here. See if you can find it! Anyone who finds it gets a prize. (Author's Greetings and disclaimer do not count). Thank you for reading, and see you next chapter. I hope. Oh, hey! A squirrel! On a motorcycle! And there's a fish…


	2. His Confidant

**Author's Greetings**: Second chapter. Get on with it.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Ouran High School Host Club, its plot, characters, and jelly beans. I own my purple woolen socks, however, and that's quite all right with me.

* * *

Haruhi's eye twitched ever so slightly, and an eyebrow rose like the rearing of an angry bird.

"I don't recall giving you permission to call me by name," she said coldly.

The other two at the blackjack table stared at the two with interest. An argument seemed the thing to break the humdrum of gambling, if only for a few minutes.

"I need…permission…?" the man asked, grinning cheekily at her. "This isn't Japan, you know."

Narrowing her eyes into deadly slits, Haruhi assumed the stance one should recognize as "about-to-bite-your-head-off". It comes from an ancient art women have perfected over the years.

"I only let friends call me by name. It's Ms. Fujioka to you…moron."

The knife-edged word missed by about 100 feet.

He merely extended a hand towards her, and said, "Pleased to meet you. _My_ name's Tamaki Suoh."

Haruhi stared at his hand as if it was a giant, mucus-covered slug.

"I…don't…care," she said slowly.

"But we'll never be friends if you don't know what _my_ name is," he said, tilting his head to the side like an adorable little child.

It didn't work.

"And I would very much like to call you by your first name," he added.

Haruhi stood frozen to the spot. A red haze filled her mind, and she wasn't quite sure of what to do. Several choices presented themselves—most of them consisting of pliers and the likes of an Iron Maiden—but none of them seemed painful enough for the silly little—tall—man before her.

"Hey, hey," said the red-headed customer, tapping the table with purple, dagger-like nails. "This isn't a bar where you can pick up chicks, mister." To Haruhi she said, "Deal, lady. That's your job, ain't it?"

"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry," Haruhi muttered. Her tone contained the same amount of apology as the amount of alcohol Tamaki could probably drink before passing out.

Which wasn't a lot.

As she dealt, she glared at the cards, daring them to let the redhead and the blonde win.

Perhaps the cards could sense what their future contained if they defied the dealer's wishes, because the next round was a whopping twenty-five for the redhead, an eighteen for the elderly customer, and a twenty-three for Tamaki.

Haruhi's cards added to nineteen.

"Hey, hey," said Ms. Redhead again. "I'm starting to think this game is rigged."

"You'd have to take that up with management," Haruhi said smoothly as she gathered her chips.

All employees at Ouran have been coached to give this response, seeing as people were too busy gambling to actually go up to management and complain.

"Maybe you shouldn't have pissed her off," said the old sour-faced woman, laughing a laugh with absolutely no trace of humor in it.

Haruhi just smirked, shuffled the deck, and prepared to deal another round.

"Count me out of this one," Tamaki declared, picking up his bucket of chips.

Haruhi glanced at him impassively. "Leaving so soon? Maybe you're luck will turn around again." Her tone said clearly that she hoped Tamaki would go lose all his money, and commit hara-kiri out of hopelessness.

"Nah," Tamaki said, waving a hand dismissively. "I told you it already has."

"Besides," he added as he reached across the table to grab her hand. "I've renounced gambling forever."

Haruhi merely half-listened to what he said. If she was shocked before, it was nothing compared to the surprise she felt now.

She gaped as Tamaki grasped her hand, and shook it firmly.

"It's really been a pleasure, Haruhi," he said, winking. "I hope I see you again soon." He pushed away from the table before she could do something permanently damaging to his hand, and lurched away like a drunken man.

As he walked away—or maybe even _flew _away on cloud nine—Haruhi could hear him humming.

* * *

"Kyoya, what a wonderful day it is!" Tamaki declared as he walked through the large yet sparsely-furnished apartment, the door swinging dangerously on its hinges from his enthusiasm.

"It's ten o'clock at night. Shut the door," Kyoya said, wasting no breath on salutations. He merely continued to type on his laptop, which Tamaki imagined to be Kyoya's second best friend.

The first one was, of course, him.

It's hard to say what brought the two together. Perhaps even fate had a sense of humor.

What's even more difficult to explain was _how_ they _stayed_ together.

No matter the answer, Tamaki Suoh and Kyoya Ohtori had been together since middle school. Kyoya had been the new student, and Tamaki welcomed him with so much joy and….well…welcome that Kyoya had felt a bit sorry for him.

He soon came to discover that it was very hard to feel sorry for Tamaki for very long, and his feelings began as mild annoyance, then graduated to unpleasant irritation, to resentful jealousy, to reluctant realization, to grudging acceptance, and then to actual happiness to find a friend in the blissful but clueless boy.

Tamaki just simply admired and liked Kyoya from the start.

Tamaki admired and liked _everyone_ until they prove to be not admirable and unlikable.

Kyoya soon learned that Tamaki was the most loyal, caring, optimistic friend a person could hope for, and he was damned if he was gonna let a good thing go.

He did not say any of this out loud, however.

Instead, he treated Tamaki with disapproval bordering on contempt, which had no effect on Tamaki anyway, so Kyoya didn't feel too bad about it.

The two had progressed through high school where Tamaki's charm and blindingly gorgeous features, and Kyoya's dark and handsomely intelligent looks had garnered them many unrequited romances from girls.

To Kyoya's initial surprise, Tamaki was actually very smart—maybe even gifted—and he always came in second to his clever and brainy best friend. Teachers were very fond of the duo, and held them in high esteem over most of the students.

"Those two will go far, mark my words," the principal of the school had remarked often.

And indeed they had.

They moved from San Diego (where Tamaki had been born and raised), and moved to the bustling, smoggy city of Los Angeles.

There they attended the well-known UCLA where Kyoya majored in psychology, business, and is still studying to get a doctorate degree in order to help with the family enterprise. The Ohtori family owned several businesses, most of them involving medical matters.

Tamaki's family also owned several chains of businesses across the country, and he studied a variety of subjects to be prepared. He currently has an internship as management of the family hotel—the Aureus—which has recently surpassed even the Hilton in fame and renown. Tamaki was a quick learner and an efficient worker, so his father was not worried about the Suoh family's succession.

The two had bright futures ahead of them, and they were kept busy in the flat that they shared in downtown L.A.

"Where have you been, anyway?" Kyoya asked, only slightly curious. "Have you been sulking about Tiphany again?"

"Hey!" Tamaki exclaimed, flopping down on the black leather couch next to his apartment-mate. "I was heartbroken about her."

"I notice you're now using the past tense. Over her, are you?"

"I went to a casino," Tamaki said, ignoring the jibe.

"Well, that sounds idiotic," Kyoya replied insensitively. "Why?"

"Oh, I just needed something to distract me from…from…" Here Tamaki paused, and sighed dramatically. "I can't even say her name."

"I told you never to go out with a woman who is named 'Tiphany', didn't I? That's bad luck, that is," Kyoya joked, trying to lighten the mood. He needed to get a lot of work done, and he wasn't up to dealing with the sniveling complaints of his friend.

"I thought she was…The One," Tamaki said half-heartedly.

_Amazing how you can_ hear_ the capitals, _Kyoya thought. _What a soppy romantic._

"You are such a soppy romantic," he said out loud.

"Better a romantic than a cynic," he said, repeating a worn out phrase he had used to combat his friend over the years. "Anyway, I _am _over her. Listen, Kyoya. I've met…The One."

"How many ones are there?" he asked, not surprised at this announcement. Tamaki was the sort to meet his 'One' on any street corner. Unfortunately, they became his 'Zeros' in the end.

"Just one, of course," Tamaki said haughtily ignoring Kyoya's mocking tone. "All the other ones weren't really ones. They were…uh…negatives." He said this with a puzzled air of one who knew this couldn't be right, but was determined to fix it no matter what.

Kyoya himself couldn't understand it. Tamaki was a cheerful, caring young man with a heart full of love, and a pocket full of cash. But his best friend was the unluckiest guy he knew when it came to love.

Kyoya sighed (his was a more subdued and quieter one).

_Best to just get it over with_.

He shut his laptop with a meaningful _snap!_ and relaxed on the couch.

"Why don't you tell me about it?"

Tamaki grinned widely at his kind, considerate friend who always listened to his trifles.

"I knew you couldn't resist," he said triumphantly.

He began his story—which sounded more like a fairy tale (in which Tamaki was the hunky knight on horseback, and Haruhi was the darling princess, who he couldn't help but imagine was wielding a rather large scythe).

When he finished breathlessly, Kyoya sat in stunned silence.

He knew his friend was in deep, deep trouble.

* * *

**Author's Farewells: **Whew! I'm tired. And I didn't really type up that much. Describing Kyoya and Tamaki's friendship and careers drained me more than I thought. This is what happens when I actually write _details_. Well, thanks for reading, and for all the reviews! Also, I couldn't help but make this story a little bit funnier. I think I will change the category to Humor, after all. _Au revoir!_


	3. Her Confidant

**Author's Greetings:** Going to be focusing on Haruhi—er, I mean MS. FUJIOKA—in this chapter because I spent last chapter on exposition on Tamaki and Kyoya. I'm still tired from all that, by the way. Well, prepare yourself for another background dump! Mwahahahahaha!

**Disclaimer: **I.Don't. Freakin'. Own. Ouran.

* * *

Haruhi sighed as she put a five-dollar bill in vending machine. Her shift has just ended for the night, and she wanted to grab a can of soda before she headed for home.

Oh, and a bar of chocolate.

After dealing with all the greedy and desperate customers of Ouran—not to mention the pig-headed moron at the blackjack table—Haruhi felt like an underpaid woman forced to slave for unreasonable hours at a sweatshop in China somewhere.

Make that _two_ bars.

And on top of her fatigue, she added the burdensome guilt of remembering that the clothes she wore were indeed made by some women who barely made a living by working in disgusting conditions that not even animals should be put in.

Maybe she should push her luck, and get three…?

As her smug metabolism rate wrestled with her sensible side (which knows she cannot possibly stay 100 lbs. at 5'2 if she listened to her insatiable appetite for the miracle that is known as chocolate), someone sneaked up behind her.

"Hey, Haruhi!"

Haruhi started as she received a light blow on the back of her head, and turned around to see her close friend Renge standing before her with a pout.

Actually, Renge wasn't really pouting. It was just the thick red lipstick that gave her the impression of clown whose face has had to meet one custard pie too many.

The small figure of Renge Houshakuji was barely visible for the bright red frou-frou dress she was wearing. Well, actually, perhaps "dress" isn't the right word. It was more like sequins, feathers, and other sparkly accessories all connected with frills and lace. It engulfed her slim figure rather like a hawk eating an insect.

A flashy, glittering hawk, that is.

In addition to the...er…dress, Renge's face was _slathered_ with thick foundation, eyeliner that would make an emo cry of shame and inadequacy, heavy eye shadow, and bright pink blush that gave her a permanent expression of someone who had just been told an indecent joke. She also had fake eyelashes that spread out like butterfly wings, and it was a wonder how she could see from all the…well—_rubbish_ on her face.

It wasn't that Renge had a particular fetish for looking like a deranged clown. Her job _required_ her to look like something out of _It_.

Renge was a showgirl.

Whenever she saw her friend in costume, Haruhi was always filled with relief. She thought _her_ uniform was a little too fancy to be used for such a simple task of dealing cards, but compared to Renge, she was wearing a potato sack.

Sulky and distant, Haruhi never really felt the urge to socialize with her fellow slave-workers—_employees_—but Renge had been resistant to her friends-repellent.

This, incidentally, is made from two cups of anger, three cups of meanness, one ounce of irritation, ½ cup of unpleasantness, a dash of sarcasm, and a heaping tablespoon of cynic.

But I digress.

Much like Tamaki did to Kyoya, Renge had enthusiastically plied Haruhi with metaphorical glasses of her friendship until the poor woman was quite intoxicated, and had to give in.

She was still suffering from the hangover.

Talented at music, dancing, and theatre, Renge had dropped out of college at nineteen, and was subsequently hired by Ouran.

Haruhi disapproved of this.

Coming from a lower-class family, Haruhi had to be the top of every class and take extra classes, so she could make an impressive transcript that could persuade colleges to take her in—preferably for free.

A brilliant student, Haruhi skipped two grades, and was able to complete high school in three years. She graduated at the young age of sixteen.

Her ambitions, however, far exceeded those of regular sixteen-year olds.

The UCLA School of Law gladly accepted the stellar Haruhi Fujioka to its ranks, and was even willing to pay for her tuition. Although any prospective lawyer would die to get into Harvard, Haruhi was quite happy with the esteemed university of Los Angeles, and worked hard to accomplish her goals. As her scholarship didn't cover the cost of books, Haruhi had to take on a part-time job.

She didn't want to work at a casino, but it paid well, and she didn't really have to do much. Rearranging the order of a deck of cards, and dealing them out to people was hardly back-breaking.

However, what she found wore her down the most were the customers.

The hopelessness that pervaded Ouran seeped through Haruhi like a poisonous gas, and her already cynical nature was hardened even more.

Some of the anger she felt at the addicted gamblers she had to face everyday made her snide, but none of the patrons really cared. If she could distribute cards and play the game properly, it didn't matter if she was a seven-headed alien with green horns.

Whenever she felt suffocated by the smoky and loud casino, Haruhi simply gritted her teeth and dealt another round. Each card put down on the green felt getting her closer to her reaching her dreams.

She had come to L.A. without any delusions for the future. She knew she wanted to be a lawyer like her late mother, and she knew she had the brains for it.

Books and lectures filled her life; invitations to parties were carelessly thrown away; and Haruhi had endured.

She earned an undergraduate degree in criminal justice, and then embarked on the long journey of attaining a law degree.

It took her two years.

Two long years of cramming her gray matter with facts and knowledge necessary to become an agent of law. And to think—it took most students three.

At the prime age of twenty-one, Haruhi Fujioka's school years were coming to a close. She was set to take the bar exam in two months, and ready to graduate and finally go into practice.

Now she was working her last few weeks at Ouran to pay for the exorbitant fees of the bar exam, and to save up for an apartment when she leaves UCLA.

Renge knew her friend would be leaving soon, and found every opportunity to hang out with Haruhi. Although Haruhi had grown quite fond of the rowdy and outrageous woman, it did annoy her a little when Renge interrupted her peaceful meditating.

Like now, for instance.

Haruhi stared at the hot pink feather boa Renge had hit her with, and grimaced. "It's not enough you interrupt an important argument I was having with myself, you gotta hit me with a dead bird, too?"

Renge _hmphed! _at this, and waved the boa in Haruhi's face. "What important argument? You were probably deciding how many chocolate bars to get."

Haruhi put on a stoic expression and said, "Actually, I was arguing with myself whether I should quit Ouran now, or whether I'll still have time to study for the bar while working."

Renge had to laugh at this brash-faced lie. "You make all liars in the world weep, Haruhi."

Haruhi ignored the insult and said, "So…I make everyone cry?"

Renge mulled over this carefully and replied, "I guess so." She chuckled, and brushed a few stray strands of golden blonde hair away from her eyes.

"So, are you heading home?" she asked, her arms akimbo.

This pose made her look like a rather large, angry peacock. Haruhi had to stifle a laugh.

"Yeah," she replied, slipping a ten-dollar bill in the vending machine. As she pressed the buttons for her choices (D5 for a can of Pepsi and S7 for two Butterfinger bars), Renge slipped behind her and stared.

"What?" Haruhi said, turning around with an irritated look.

"_Two_ Butterfinger bars? Do you know how much fat is in one of those?" Renge demanded as Haruhi fished out her snacks.

"Well…" Haruhi held up a Butterfinger bar, squinted at its nutritional data, and said, "eleven grams."

This earned her another light slap in the face with the hideous pink boa, and she choked on an errant feather.

"Why don't you go ahead and just stuff your face with one, then?" Renge said. "Curse you and your amazing metabolism."

"That's what I'm planning to do." Haruhi sidestepped around the slightly revolting bird—Renge—in her way, and headed out of the employee's lounge.

"The Wonder Twins are looking for you again," Renge said suddenly. Her loud and annoying tone of voice changed to a more somber one.

"Am I finally getting fired for rude behavior?" Haruhi asked, her eyes steely.

"You know that's not why they want you." Renge turned, looking at her friend with great concern. Haruhi did not face her; she did not want to see the usually smiling Renge look worried.

It meant things were really bad.

"So what are you going to do?"

"Nothing. I'll be gone here soon. I just have to hold out for a few more weeks," Haruhi answered.

Renge sensed the warning in her friend's voice, and changed the subject.

"I heard a customer was harassing you at the table today."

Finally, Haruhi turned around. She could face the cheerful Renge with the light-hearted tone, and the rosy optimism a normal person couldn't achieve without some sort of drug.

"Oh yeah, the drunk? Yeah, I just got Security to kick him out."

"No, not him!" Renge exclaimed. "What was it…he only played one round? Apparently, he was hitting on you."

The grin on Renge's face would've put the Cheshire cat to shame.

"Oh…him," Haruhi said, recalling an idiotic grin and a yellow head. "Well, you get all sorts. The moron was babbling like a lunatic!" Haruhi shook her head at Tamaki's folly.

She remembered his spastic change from heavy misery to animated joy.

She remembered his smile.

She remembered his eyes.

The peacock in the vicinity gave a meaningful cough. "He was hot, wasn't he?" Renge's knowing smile could've made a rock blush.

"Wh-what?" A faint blush appeared on Haruhi's cheeks as she realized the _heat_ of her thoughts, but she quickly recovered. "I guess."

"Only…only…" Renge trailed off as she studied her best friend intently.

"Only what?" Haruhi snapped.

"Oh…nothing." Renge put a finger to her lips in a _shhh!_ing motion, and winked.

Haruhi frowned disapprovingly. "Grow up. We're not 5th graders anymore."

She turned on a heel, and haughtily strode out of the lounge.

"Only…you've got that Look," Renge murmured when she was sure she was alone. She sighed like an enormous balloon being deflated. "Well whoever he is, I feel sorry for him."

Renge threw up her hands with her signature flair, and turned to the vending machine.

"Now…let's see…." She looked around to make sure the lounge was truly empty, and fished a five out of her pocket. "Just _one_ wouldn't hurt, surely…."

A slim finger extended to poke the buttons.

S7.

* * *

"Well? What do you think?" Tamaki demanded as he wrapped up his extravagant tale.

Kyoya was speechless. He gawked as if Tamaki had suddenly sprouted leathery wings, and expressed his desire to be a bat.

This was a completely different situation from Tamaki's usual conquests of love.

The pattern, having been established, went something like this:

Tamaki meets nice and pretty girl.

Tamaki "falls in love" like the gullible idiot he is.

Nice and pretty girl goes out with Tamaki because he is smexy and rich.

Tamaki is like a drunken man, and will even shout his love from rooftops. He was almost arrested for disturbing the peace. Except this was L.A., so no one really cared.

Nice and pretty girl, for some insane and mysterious reason, breaks up with Tamaki.

Tamaki is severely depressed, and sulks for days.

Tamaki does something to distract himself (e.g. take up pottery).

Tamaki meets new nice and pretty girl (such as the pottery teacher).

Cycle starts over. Repeat as necessary. Hand-wash for silk.

From what he has heard so far, Haruhi is not the usual "nice and pretty girl." But what was even more baffling was that Tamaki would pick the one girl Kyoya knew for certain would never fall for Tamaki.

"Er…do I have this right? Haruhi…_Fujioka_? Short…skinny…rude…?" Kyoya asked, hoping against hope that he was wrong.

Which he never, _ever_ hoped.

"Um…yes…" Tamaki looked at his friend suspiciously. "Do you _know_ her?"

"Oh, yes," Kyoya replied grimly. "I know her all right."

Tamaki eyes widened, and he took Kyoya by the shoulders.

"How? Where…? HOW?"

Kyoya rolled his eyes as Tamaki shook him, and made him convulse like a mad doll.

"I'll tell you if you calm down."

"Sorry." Tamaki relaxed, taking his hands away. "It's just that…I _have_ to know. I think we're…Meant to Be."

_Capitals again_, Kyoya thought, _He really _is _serious_.

He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, and laced his fingers together. Looking at his friend thoughtfully, Kyoya had to laugh. Tamaki was trembling with anticipation; he looked like a child who was about to receive a huge lollipop.

Then he sobered up, and began his story.

* * *

**Author's Farewells: **Holy snoogum pookums! This chapter is twice as long as the last one! And what do I get for all this hard work? Cookies, I hope. I didn't type all this out in one sitting like the last two chapters, though. I wrote it in parts, so it wasn't too bad. Hope I didn't bore you with all my exposition on Haruhi and Renge. I couldn't help filling out all this background because this story is not set anywhere near the actual manga or anime. More plot to follow now that the two main characters' back stories are out of the way. Probably. Thank you for reading and reviewing! See you next chapter! (And yes, the Wonder Twins are none other than Kaoru and Hikaru. They will be in the next chapter. Yesh!)


End file.
